


you're a fool, and so am i

by JenelleLucia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Pre-Timeskip, hi so this was based off of abb's art :), i really wanted to post this im crying, pre-release, sylvain/ingrid's actually real cute ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenelleLucia/pseuds/JenelleLucia
Summary: ;;; alternatively, tea time with ingrid and sylvain. // ingrid / sylvain, for abb.





	you're a fool, and so am i

**Author's Note:**

> HI OKAY SO I ALSO RUSHED TO GET THIS ONE OUT but i was very much inspired by abb (@kirszche) 's recent art of sylvain/ingrid and they're,,, really cute ;;3 here's the link to the art that particularly inspired this piece, so abb - i hope you enjoy this one! 
> 
> https://twitter.com/sylvainluvr69/status/1143711417335472128

The last time that Ingrid remembers having tea with Sylvain was when they were children, much younger than they were now. It was in the gardens in the castle situated in Faerghus’ capital. She was joined by Her Highness, and Sylvain, and Felix and she was the one conducting the “tea party,” as the other three boys would call it. In fact, if the other three had it their way and she were out of earshot, they remember her dragging them out to the gardens in what would have been considered “sweltering heat” and she served them hot tea for a good half hour. 

Ingrid supposes that it’s no different now, as she sits out in the gardens of Garreg Mach Monastery in a moment of peace. She had managed to get Sylvain away from some of the girls from the Black Eagles’ house (who seemed more than uninterested, Lady Edelgard especially) with numerous apologies, and now he sat there across from her. He’s not uninterested by any means; instead of making faces with the other boys when they were younger, he actually drinks the tea with her. 

His etiquette’s a little more than off -- elbows on the table, yet he’s somewhat...refined when drinking the tea, taking the teacup and saucer and all, and his own apologies for causing trouble with the black eagles come to her in the form of cake. And from the way she eats, Ingrid seems to have accepted that apology. 

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” she had told him when the cakes were brought out. It was an assortment of her favorites, he said, and she eyes him warily as he takes a plate of the red velvet cake in his hands and sets in front of her. 

“I know, and I will!” he promises, and that seems to make her shoulders relax. “Now, you’d better have your cake. there’s a lot more waiting here for you.” The cart of cake remains there, and Ingrid allows herself to sit up straighter and take the fork he had offered her, then watching him take the teapot in his hands -- something that she had to learn to get used to seeing -- and pour a cup for her, and for himself. 

As they drink their tea and eat their cake, the conversations drift ever so naturally -- there were many things that Sylvain was good at, Ingrid supposed that conversations were one of them. He brings up the days in Faerghus where they were able to run around and rough up their knees and dirty their fanciest clothes without so much of a care; the conversations drift to now, where they talk about their classes and what more they have to improve on. It’s topic after topic and as Sylvain weaves stories and memories and the conversations drift, Ingrid finds that her mind’s beginning to do so as well. 

She takes the tea cup in one hand, saucer in the other, and as she sips her tea almost absentmindedly, her gaze lands almost anywhere and everywhere -- from the side, where the topiaries where strategically placed and the hedges that were so neatly trimmed, to the archway on the other side of the garden that brought them here, flowers delicately curling around iron and decorating the sides and edges and then some; her gaze lands anywhere and everywhere until finally it lands on

( _ah_.) 

Sylvain’s gotten taller, hasn’t he? Not much taller than His Highness has, or Felix -- but he’s tall enough. It’s another one of those days where she looks at him and thinks to herself that he’s grown; they’ve all watched each other grow up for sure, them both and Dimitri and Felix, and she tilts her head as she studies him some more. He’s stuck to that rather unruly hairstyle of his, and for comfort he’s always rolled up his sleeves. She notices the little things, of course; how can’t she? 

She takes in his face next. He doesn’t notice her gaze on him; fair, he’s totally focused on something else, and she has no idea what. When he looks back at her, though, he’s got that neverchanging boyish smile on his face -- he’s had that when they were younger, he still has it now, and maybe in five, ten, twenty years from now he still would and she would never, _ever_ admit it but it always made her heart skip 

“Hey, Ing,” he starts, then placing his focus back on her, boyish smile fading and stilling her beating heart. Perfect, yes, just what she needed -- idle conversation and another cup of tea, so she hums her acknowledgement and pours herself another cup, then lifting it to her lips as she waited for his response. 

“What animal is the blue lion?” _And everything around Ingrid just stops._

. 

Ingrid doesn’t know whether or not to keep drinking, or hold the rest of the tea in her mouth, or what. She’s unsure in the moment because, _ah, of course_ , Sylvain most definitely had the beauty but at times he did not have the brains, and she’s unsure whether or not in this moment if he’s joking or if he were serious. He looks serious, though, very serious, and ingrid fears whether or not he’s looking for a serious answer, so she decides to set down her teacup with a sigh, and she closes her eyes. 

“Are you joking?” 

“It’s a serious question!” Oh dear gods, it is. It was a serious question and _he_ was being serious. 

“You,” she begins, with a fondness in her voice that she hopes he is able to miss. “Are a fool.” She lifts the teacup to her lips, gaze fluttering over to him and she smiles against the rim of the cup as she listens to him whine and gripe and ask her for a real answer. 

 _You’re a fool, Sylvain,_ she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes, smile never fading as she drinks on. _I suppose I'm one, too._


End file.
